Open my Frame of Mind with a Mural: Slam Poem

Hi, I’m Maddy and this is my poem, ‘Open my
Frame of Mind with a Mural’. Open my frame of mind with a mural because
I’m confined to a space with four borders in place round this canvas. I want you to cure all the limits I find when
the paint hits the corners. I want you to blind me with worlds washed
with colours, conceived when the sun and the sea like two lovers would breathe in a sigh
of red skies so I’m covered in sunset-strewn ochre. I want you to smother my dreams with a painting
carved into my skull, so the white bone remaining might seem like an old Stone Age cave, like
my brain in your carvings would fit. Like my mind and your drawings were meant
for each other, to share the same memories like sister and brother, like sycamore leaves
which together discover the ground. Now we’ve landed and found the whole world’s
at our feet. So can I borrow your plimsolls and walk in
your shoes? If I’ve given you everything I’ve got nothing
to lose. I want you to show me that life is not a race. We can walk along slowly if death is first
place, and if the aim of the game is to try to be last can you show me to go slow instead
of too fast? I want you to tell me that time is a gift
to be taken. The gift is the present, so take your time. Take as much as you want and you can have
my time too so we can spend it together. So then time will fly by for we’re birds of
a feather who flock through the future because you’ve calmed the bad weather, stolen my thunder,
lulled the storm in the teacup and written in tea leaves the message “forever”. So if I’m the coffee then you are the vapour
which soars from the mug to escape to wherever. For you are a fresco and I’m just some paper. So can you sketch out the margins which circle
the sheet? Can you open my frame of mind with a mural
of stories from folktales and fantasy fiction? Each paint stroke would block out each brick
of restriction; remind me that fences may keep out my fear, but they keep out my joy
too. Don’t you realise that tears are vessels for
both? And so now I can’t cry. Now I’m stuck on the land because I don’t
understand that fences are made for those who can’t fly. So paint out the prison like walls with a
frieze made of spectrums of dyes which might seem to defy all the physics of life. Paint so much, I believe that the wall is
never ending, or not even there. Make me think life is a line instead of a
square which will end in a beautiful cascade of colours of light at death’s door, behind
which is something more bright than the murals and tapestries you’ve painted for me to show
me that life might have limits. But see, the world may have walls which hinder
my sight but with your flying colours I can See the bigger picture
Because you’ve shown me it’s fine, it will all be alright.

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